Fight the Good Fight
by YunCyn
Summary: It is wartime in Soul Society and it discriminates no one. Not even Captain Unohana. [Unohana centric, extremely mild ByaUno]


Fight the Good Fight

**A/N:** Written in a very funny mood in the wee hours of the morning and finished the day after. Please forgive me for the OOC-ness that might follow.

**Disclaimer:** Bleach (c) Kubo Tite.

* * *

- 

Unohana Retsu has not buckled under pressure for over eight hundred years. She will not start now.

But when she sees reports of how many shinigami they lose to Arrancar, when she binds the wounds of those who return back from battles, knowing there is limited medicine, when so many are unable to be rescued, she feels the weight pressing onto her shoulder blades.

She is a shinigami; she is no stranger to death. She is a shinigami working in the fourth division; she brushes shoulders with second death. In her hands are the afterlives of her colleagues.

Never before have so many slipped through her fingers like this.

_How is it possible? How?_ She thinks over and over and over again, as she works in the wards to heal, to bind, to cover and stitch. Her deputy, her subordinates, her own division is stretched to breaking point. Half of the fourth are in the human world, led by Isane, trying their best to move as fast as possible to get to as many injured parties as they can manage. Captains such as herself are also there, in the midst of the bloody, endless clashes with their opponents.

She has not seen a bloody white haori yet. She desperately hopes she will not have to.

The metallic stench and the dark thick red of blood undisguised by the black, dirtied uniforms are more than enough.

Outside, flurries of steps go back and forth. Black swallowtail butterflies speed through the air – an entire swarm in fact. That can only mean one thing.

She opens the ward shoji and steps out, calling, "Ogidou-san."

He is in front of her immediately. "Taichou."

"I and the seventh team will see to the new arrivals. Clear as many spaces as you can."

Ogidou's grimace doesn't escape her but she knows it isn't a grimace at her order. It's a grimace in anticipation of what will be coming. He nods nonetheless and runs to perform his duty.

Unohana whirls around, gathering the team she has mentioned. Once she steps outside, her sword is unsheathed and Minazuki lets out a tired cry.

"I am sorry, my old friend… but these are hard times," she murmurs, stroking the white creature gently. "Please, will you help us?"

The echoing call sounds affirmative and it makes her smile slightly, the first time for that day. Nodding at the rest, she leads them into the main courtyard where already a doorway from the human world is opening.

Out spills injured and dead shinigami alike, with their stronger colleagues crying out for help. Large gashes scar the skin of many, blood streaks their faces, uniforms are torn and swords are broken. At once, the fourth division gets to work. The critically wounded are brought into Minazuki's belly by the sword itself. Others are lifted onto stretchers and carried away to the fourth division. There are those who must be helped on the spot and it is then that Unohana remembers neither her surroundings nor the war. Just the wound that needs tending to and a patient whose suffering must be halted as quickly as she can.

When all that can be helped have been settled, she takes in a deep breath (and smells the scent of fresh blood and fumes of ointment). She stands and turns to those who cannot, could not, have been helped. Unohana can say nothing, merely lifting those cold bodies and laying them beside one another. Some are familiar, some are not… but all, she knows, will be missed.

One shinigami is inconsolable, clinging to her friend's body. She cries into his stained shirt, uncaring of her own bloodied condition. She will let no one touch her friend, demanding he get up, demanding why he saved her, demanding to know why he didn't keep their promise of returning alive together.

Unohana stands tall, towering above the girl who is doubled over. She lays a gentle hand on the grieving shinigami's head.

Slowly, the girl's crying eyes shut and she falls softly over, quickly caught by the seventh team members. Without wasting time, they bring her away to the sanctuary of the fourth division. There have been many more like her, all whom Unohana had had to use a small kidou spell to place them under sleep. They may grieve as much as they like in the quiet surroundings of the fourth division lodge… but right there, when lives had to be saved, they needed as little trouble as possible.

Unohana herself carries the dead boy's body and sets him gingerly by the others. They will be buried soon, after their names and divisions have been identified and recorded. She will leave that to the other divisions. She turns away, after silently thanking them for their service and bidding them farewell, leaving someone to spread a large white sheet over them.

Minazuki trails after her as she hurries back to her division. Once there, she orders the faithful sword to release the rest. A number of shinigami, once near death, now stand a better chance of surviving. They are all taken inside and Unohana hurries after without asking Minazuki to return. She has surgery to perform as does Iemura and those who are seated in her division. Minazuki will wait outside, not understanding the endless activity that surrounds it and just as uncomprehending of the thrum of sadness and anger that flows through its bearer.

* * *

- 

"Taichou, please. You've been working for the past four days without food. You need to eat."

"There will be time for food later, Iemura-san." Unohana reaches over to check on a patient's temperature. It is lower than the last time but it will be a while before he awakes. "Go to the twelfth. Inform them we require more supplies. If they protest, come back here. I will see to it they comply."

Iemura feels a cold chill run down his back. "At once, taichou."

She feels him leave in a hurried shunpo step. She knows very well she is being harder on everyone she works with, but at times such as these, there is no room for excuses. She cannot allow either herself or the people she works with to slacken or pause. There is too much to do and she will not let more lives be ripped away from her.

Holding a paper lantern, she checks on all the wards' occupants. They have been given permission to extend their quarters. Tents have been set up outside the lodges, containing temporary beds. She and her third seat make their rounds on rotation; tonight she patrols those within the lodge – those who have just been brought in and those who fight for their lives.

Most are unconscious but the minority who are dimly awake, are given a gentle smile. They are told to rest, or that they mustn't give up. She always waits for a reaction – a tiny nod, a blink of the eyes, anything. Her hand is often reached for and clasped if they are mobile, in a hold of pain or terror. She merely grips back, mutedly telling them to fight. She is no longer a taichou here. In here, she is the closest thing to someone they can call "mother".

There are nights when she has held the hand of someone who is slipping into death. She remembers them as clearly as ever, when she finds a few more who does not survive to see morning light. Quietly, she calls for her colleagues and they move them away to the morgue, where they join others awaiting funeral rites.

She can see her own exhaustion reflected in their eyes and tells those who aren't on night duty, to rest after taking care of the dead. In return, they implore her to do the same, reminding her that she cannot fall sick at this time. She nods in agreement and after one last sweep of the wards, she retires to her office. The names and divisions of the dead await her in a list. She reads through soundlessly for some time.

Unohana puts the report back on her table and gets up. She heads out the door and out of the division lodge, heading to no destination. The night is dark, clouds hiding the moon's face. She doesn't mind since it cloaks her. The few that are here will not see her wandering.

Her feet do not feel the wooden corridors she walks along. In her mind are the names; in her eyes, the faces of those in pain and those who have left. She can imagine the battles and pain from the dirt and grime. Her hands still feel the grasp of her patients and her thoughts chase one another in endless races.

The smell of the old pinewood doesn't comfort her as it has done in the past. It just reminds her of how long Soul Society has stood. It has remained steady for endless centuries, guarding the balance of life and death… and yet this war shakes them to their knees. In all its time… this is the largest battle they have had to fight in all this time. And even then…

Even then, they did not fight against one of their own.

Struggling to get out of such thoughts, she looks at her hands. She realizes she has not even changed out of her uniform. No wonder she is so anxious – the tang of the day still hovers about her. But she doubts that even if she uses all the fragrances in this world, it will not be enough to chase the memory away.

After all, she can still hear the earlier sobbing demands of the girl ringing in her ears.

It isn't fair that they should lose so many while their enemy seems to grow in number day by day. Are they truly fighting a losing battle? It is not possible-

She stops suddenly at that thought, pale hands settling on the wooden railing.

No. It is all too possible. It is that kind of denial and refusal to believe it that may have gotten them into this situation.

Her sudden halt does not go unnoticed. Silently, she can feel him stand beside her, his larger hand coming to rest on the dark red railing as well and his reiatsu an unheard hum of latent power. He came back days ago to report to Yamamoto-soutaichou and to discuss more strategies and plans. He will return to the human world tomorrow.

Her voice is in a subdued tone. "…when did we cross the line from being proud to being arrogant?"

"…" There is no answer but he knows what she means.

When did they cross the line from being proud enough to maintain their system to being arrogant enough to let things be just because everything worked? When had their slipping begun, allowing cracks like shady captains and distorted loyalty to form within their old, sacred institute?

And how, for all their power and skill, did no one notice?

In the end, he just lets out a breath. "That question will solve nothing now. The only thing we may continue doing is being strong."

She looks up at him. "And if that is not possible?"

Dark eyes meet hers head on. They are sharp, determined and unmovable. "You are who you are for a reason, Unohana-_taichou_. I do not choose to believe that they would allow a weak will into the ranks of the Gotei-13. Not even the traitors had want of fortitude… unfortunately."

She smiles a little at the backhanded, possibly intended, pseudo-compliment towards the defectors. "Your convictions are appreciated, Kuchiki-taichou… but I fear even a pillar of Soul Society cracks."

"…when have you ever been expected to bear the weight alone?"

Kuchiki's eyebrow is raised questioningly, almost accusingly, as she stares for a moment at him.

"…" He looks away. "There are other pillars who know the smell of blood… even though we are not here at this time."

Unohana nods slowly. "…I know that. I'm thankful for it… but I still feel betrayed." She glances at her fingers. "Betrayed by my own hands. So many lives were taken away from me before I even had the chance to reach for them."

In her heart, she admits that she is selfish in thinking that way. Those shinigami who lost their lives were, more so than her, taken away from people who loved them, people who knew them more than a body wearing a black uniform, someone who died in battle. They were truly taken away from family and friends.

But still, argues back Unohana, she is captain of the fourth division. They are, in a sense, responsible for everyone's healing. In a way, she is the one who must make sure they come back alive. Yet she has failed them, she has failed her division and she has failed herself.

It cannot be helped… but she stubbornly, illogically feels that it ought to. It has to. For their sake and for her own.

"…I was there when they numbered those who had perished. I signed the identification report. You have read it, have you not?"

She nods silently.

"Out of the twenty people sent back today, six died."

Her eyes shut in tired frustration. "…two more breathed their last just now."

"…Twelve souls were kept from death because of your hands. It may have been all twenty." He glanced at her.

She can say nothing, merely gazing out into the darkness of the courtyard in sad contemplation.

But his next words make her turn to regard him.

"If you deem such a deed betrayal, then overcome it… and grow stronger."

"…you know plenty about internal wars, don't you, Kuchiki-taichou."

His eyes possess a calmer light than she would have expected. "If I had won, Rukia would not be alive today.

But I do not expect _you_ to lose."

A wan smile ghosts over Unohana's lips at that frank admittance. "…then perhaps when you next return, I will have such news to give you."

"…" Kuchiki looks at her, noting that the tiredness in her eyes has faded and the quirk of her lips has returned.

"I look forward to it."

* * *

-

The next morning, Kuchiki Byakuya takes his leave by the portal. He is given last minute briefings from Yamamoto-soutaichou and before he turns to go, he catches Unohana's eye.

With a smile, she nods. "Come back safe."

He returns a slow parting nod. "You as well."

Yamamoto raises an eyebrow curiously at the fourth captain after Kuchiki leaves and the doorway closes. "Are you in a battle yourself, Unohana-taichou?"

Unohana Retsu turns to meet the old captain with a smiling nod.

"Yes, Yamamoto-soutaichou. I am."

_-_

_End._


End file.
